One Small Act of Kindness
by AlElizabeth
Summary: Dudley does the unexpected and helps Harry.


_No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted - Aesop_

Harry Potter was woken, as he usually was, by Aunt Petunia hitting the door to his cupboard.

"Get up now and help with breakfast!" the woman snapped and her footsteps faded away, into the kitchen.

Harry, curled up into a ball, yawned and stretched out as much as he could in his cupboard under the stairs. Sitting up, he mussed his hair and searched for his glasses. Digging through the pile of oversized clothes- hand-me-downs from his cousin- the boy crouched as he slipped on a pair of jeans, rolling the legs up so as not to trip on them, and a red jumper with sleeves he shoved past his elbows.

Opening the door to the cupboard and peering down the hallway, Harry saw his aunt already pottering around in the kitchen, cooking at the stove.

Sighing, Harry padded down to the kitchen.

"Set the table," Aunt Petunia instructed, without turning to look at the boy. Dishes and silverware was already sitting on the counter.

Harry grabbed the knives and forks and laid them at three places at the table. He was rarely allowed to sit at the table with the rest of the family, and he'd be lucky if his aunt let him have the leftovers. Usually his cousin would eat until he was sick just so there was nothing left for Harry at the end of the meal.

Once the table was set, Aunt Petunia moved out of the way of the stove so Harry could take over the cooking. They were having pancakes and sausages this morning. The scent filling the tiny, sterile kitchen and making Harry's mouth gush with water.

Aunt Petunia busied herself with making a pot of tea as she waited for her son and husband to arrive. A tall, horse-faced woman with dark blonde hair and grey eyes, she imagined herself more pretty than she was and never went without makeup, even if she was only going grocery shopping. This morning, Harry noticed that her thin cheeks were very red, though he couldn't tell if it was from blush or something else.

"Morning Vernon," Petunia greeted her husband and poured some tea into the cup at his place setting.

"Dear," he grumbled and picked up the newspaper laid out in front of him, "Why isn't breakfast ready yet?"

Uncle Vernon was in a foul mood. He hadn't gotten the promotion at work he'd expected. So, in true fashion, he took his anger out on his family, namely his nephew, Harry.

Aunt Petunia simpered for a moment before sitting down at the table and turning to Harry.

"Hurry up!" she snapped and the boy hunched his shoulders as he flipped a pancake over.

There were a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the occasional grunt from Harry's uncle as he flipped through his newspaper and the clink of his aunt's spoon against her teacup.

Loud, thudding footsteps announced the arrival of Harry's large cousin Dudley. The boy, not much older than Harry, couldn't have been more different. Where Harry was small and skinny for his age, with messy black hair and green eyes, Dudley was as wide as he was tall, with piggy eyes and straight blond hair that was usually brushed flat against his skull.

Dudley's eyes lit up greedily as he spied the pancakes and sausages on the stove as he plopped down into his chair.

"It'll just be a few minutes more, Popkin," Petunia, noticing her son's expression, reached out a bony hand to pat his fat one before turning to Harry, "Can't you cook those faster! We're hungry!"

The boy slid three pancakes onto a plate and brought them over to the table before returning to the stove to make more.

"Where's the sausage?" Uncle Vernon snapped, glaring at his nephew.

Dudley meanwhile was drowning his pancake in syrup, paying no attention to his father's demands.

"You'll have to get him up earlier, Petunia," Vernon continued, "If he's going to be so slow."

"You're right," Harry's aunt agreed, "He's getting lazy."

The eight-year old flipped over another pancake. Surely his cousin had polished off his first one by now. Why wasn't he pounding his fists on the table and demanding more food like he usually was?

"You're burning the sausages!" Uncle Vernon yelled, standing partway out of his chair to see what his nephew was doing.

Harry, not wanting to further enrage his uncle, grabbed the handle of the frying pan, slid it off the burner and turned around. Unfortunately, his aunt had just gotten up from the table and approached him at the same moment. Harry raised the frying pan to avoid hitting the woman and caused the sizzling sausages to tumble to the floor, grease splashing his front. Crying out in pain and shock- Aunt Petunia gave a little scream to see her pristine floor soiled- Harry dropped the frying pan and it landed on his foot. Gasping, the eight-year-old picked his foot up, slid in the grease and crashed to the floor, catching the back of his head against the edge of the stove as he went down.

Hurt and disoriented, Harry lay where he had fallen, watching the scene unfold before him in a daze.

Uncle Vernon stood up, his face beet red, "You clumsy-"

His uncle stalked around the table and grabbed Harry by one arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him out of the room.

"No, please," Harry begged, trying to pull away "I'm sorry!"

"You ruined our breakfast!" Uncle Vernon shoved Harry onto the carpeted floor of the parlour and aimed a kick at him.

The eight-year old cowered, covering his face and with his hands to protect himself. A goose egg was already swelling at the back of his head and a wave of nausea boiled up in his stomach. Pressing his cheek against the carpet, Harry hoped his Uncle would let up soon.

Harry saw Dudley standing behind his uncle, watching, a strange, strained expression on his face.

Harry cried out when Vernon's shoe caught him in the abdomen and he heaved, bile dribbling onto the carpet.

"Disgusting!" Uncle Vernon announced and made to kick his nephew again while Harry groaned in pain.

"Oi Dad!" Dudley's voice called from behind Uncle Vernon.

"Dad!" the boy called again, "DAD!"

"WHAT?!" Harry's uncle turned to face his son, his mustache twitching.

"I want to go out for breakfast," Dudley told him, "I'm still hungry."

For a moment no one said anything. Harry remained curled up on the floor, afraid his uncle would resume his attack.

"Petunia, get your coat!" Uncle Vernon barked, "We're going out!"

Without a glance at his nephew, Vernon Dursley left the parlour. Harry heard the creak of the closet in the foyer open as the family gathered their coats and shoes.

He didn't move until he heard the low rumble of their car leaving the driveway. He lay as still as he could, his cheek pressing against the scratchy carpet fibers, the bump on the back of his head throbbing, his skin stinging from the hot grease, a sour taste in the back of his throat. When he felt he was strong enough, Harry picked his head up and crawled to his cupboard. Slowly, painfully he peeled the soiled jumper off and replaced it with an oversized t-shirt. The skin on his arms and chest were red and stung with pain; the awful red jumper he had been wearing protected him however from more serious burns. There was a large, round bruise already forming on his stomach from Uncle Vernon's loafer and when Harry touched the area, he gasped in pain.

Wanting nothing more than to lay down on his bed of old blankets and pillows but aware that he was expected clean up the mess he'd made, Harry crept to the kitchen, bracing himself with a hand against the wall and grabbing onto the doorframe as he still felt nauseous. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts, anything more caused his bruised ribs to protest.

Grease was splattered across the floor and cabinets; the sausages had rolled under the table, the half-eaten pancakes congealing in puddles of syrup still sitting on the Durselys' plates.

One hand wrapped around his belly, Harry picked up the frying pan first; dropping it into the sink to be washed, before he gathered up the sausages, now cool to the touch. Opening the cupboard under the sink where the garbage was, Harry paused. He was hungry and wasn't sure when his next meal would be; if his uncle was still made at him when they returned he'd likely not have any food until tomorrow. He wanted to eat but he didn't know if he could keep anything down.

Glancing out of the window over the sink, Harry saw that the street was deserted. Feeling no sense of shame, a primal need to survive driving him, Harry cautiously took a bite of one of the sausages, chewed and swallowed. He still felt as though he was going to be sick but the meat stayed down. Slowly, he finished the rest of the cold sausages, one by one, taking his time at first and then more quickly as though somehow the Dursleys would know what he was doing and return to punish him in seconds.

When a minute passed and no bolt of lightning had struck him down, Harry sat carefully at his cousin's place at the table and finished Dudley's pancake, before moving onto his uncle and aunt's. He found that if he took his time and didn't make any sudden movements, the pain wasn't so bad.

Now with a full stomach, Harry set about cleaning the kitchen, putting the dirty dishes into the sink and wiping up the grease, pouring the unused pancake batter into a container and placing it into the fridge, moving gingerly, cautiously. The work didn't take as long as Harry expected and when he was finished, the kitchen looked as sterile as if Aunt Petunia herself had cleaned it.

 _HP_

Lying on his back in his cupboard, Harry had time to think about the events of the morning. Dudley normally would gleefully go along with his parents' taunting but this morning, he had remained silent. His cousin's favourite pastime was watching his father beat up Harry but he had stopped the attack. The eight-year-old didn't think it was any special holiday or anything that would make his cousin change so drastically. For years, Dudley had taken as much joy as his parents in keeping Harry downtrodden. So, why change now?

Harry sighed, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth and to count his blessings. Dudley might not be so generous the next time.

 _HP_

The eight-year-old was dozing fitfully when he heard the rumble of a car's engine approach the house, the crunch of gravel as shoes stepped onto the driveway and the creak of the front door opening. Harry rolled onto his side, facing the door to his cupboard and listened as the Dursleys entered the house.

"Fancy some tea, Vernon?" Aunt Petunia's voice asked in the foyer over the squeal of the hall closet opening.

"Absolutely," was the reply.

"I want biscuits!" Dudley announced and Harry listened to the family pass his cupboard as though there was nothing inside but cleaning supplies and entered the kitchen.

For a few moments there were only the sounds of cabinets opening and closing, chairs scraping across the linoleum, the thud of the heavy biscuit jar on the table from its spot high above on the top of the fridge- so Harry couldn't reach it- before an angry voice called out.

"POTTER!"

Harry jumped and instinctually curled into a ball.

"GET IN HERE!"

For a second Harry was afraid to move, but then, knowing he would make it even worse if he didn't obey, inched open the door to his cupboard and peered down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Uncle Vernon, his face an ugly shade of purple, was standing by the cupboard underneath the sink. It had been opened and the trash bin pulled out.

Harry left his cupboard and walked cautiously down the hallway. Aunt Petunia was at the stovetop, waiting for the kettle to boil so she could pour the tea, her back to the rest of the kitchen. Dudley was sitting in his usual place at the table, cramming his hand into the top of the biscuit jar. He stopped in his attempts to fish another biscuit out and watched his cousin and uncle in fascination.

"What's wrong Uncle Vernon?" the eight-year old ventured.

"Did you- Where's the breakfast?!" his uncle demanded, tipping the bin forward so Harry could see it was empty.

The boy felt his stomach drop. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Of course his aunt and uncle would check to make sure he'd cleaned up the mess in the kitchen.

Nausea roiled in Harry's belly again and he wished he'd just thrown the sausages and pancakes out like he was supposed to have done.

"I…" Harry began but nothing came out.

Uncle Vernon's face turned even darker purple, like an incensed plum, and his eye twitched.

"You ate it!" he accused, sounding scandalized.

Harry had no way to argue with the large man and simply waited for what came next.

With a savage growl, Uncle Vernon lunged forward and grabbed the front of Harry's shirt, shaking him as he bellowed into his face.

"NO MEALS! NO MORE MEALS!"

Spittle flecked Harry's face and he closed his eyes against the onslaught.

"F-for h-how long?" he stammered, rattled.

"Until I say so! How's that?" his uncle yelled and began dragging him down the hallway.

He shoved the boy into the cupboard under the stairs and closed the door.

"Don't let me see your face for the rest of the day," Uncle Vernon snarled through the door and stomped back to the kitchen.

 _HP_

Harry did as his uncle wished and didn't leave his cupboard for the rest of the day. None of the Dursleys bothered him and he was fine with that. All he really wanted to do was lie in the dark and the quiet until he felt better.

Late that night, when the rest of the household was asleep, a soft rapping on the door to his cupboard waked Harry. Groggy and confused- the Dursleys never woke him in the middle of the night- he opened the door a crack and peered out.

"Here," Dudley's voice whispered from the darkness, and shoved a bottle of water from the fridge, a bottle of Ibuprofen and two candy bars from his stash at Harry, "These will help."

Harry didn't take the items right away. Dudley had never, ever given him anything if he could help it and knew his cousin wouldn't willingly give up his sweets without a fight or some hidden agenda. He stared at his cousin in disbelief, wondering if this was some kind of trick or trap.

"Take them," Dudley hissed and pushed the items into Harry's hands.

"Th-Thank you," Harry muttered, twisted off the cap for the bottle of water and took a sip.

Dudley grunted a response and shifted his bulk, preparing to head back upstairs.

"And thanks for earlier," Harry told him.

For a moment Dudley didn't move, then, as though the words caused him physical pain, he muttered, "Don't mention it."

Harry closed the door to his cupboard and smiled, just a little, listening to his cousin's footsteps as Dudley walked back upstairs.

 **Author's Note:**

 **A special thanks to mandancie for helping me with this story. She's written more Harry Potter fics than me and I really appreciated her insight and advice while writing this.**

 **Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**


End file.
